


Soulmarked

by PhiraLovesLoki



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Sharing a Bed, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 11:23:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7932790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiraLovesLoki/pseuds/PhiraLovesLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan just wants to be loved for who she is, and not because someone feels obligated to love her. It’s just her luck that she has a soulmate somewhere out there, while she’s already in love with someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soulmarked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ilerya82](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilerya82/gifts).



> This is my OUAT Positivity Gift Exchange present for ilerya82! Thanks for being so much fun to talk to this past month! I really hope that you enjoy your present!

Emma Swan felt like she couldn’t escape _soulmates._

There was Mary Margaret, her adoptive sister, who met her soulmate David in college when she was dared to steal something from Regina’s dorm room and accidentally broke into his instead. There was _also_ Regina, whose mother’s classist attitude meant that she didn’t feel comfortable openly dating her soulmate Robin, whom she’d met on the first day of freshman year, until they’d all graduated and she wasn’t dependent on her mother’s money. There was Ruby, who’d joyously slept with virtually every single person she met, and then just as joyously enjoyed monogamy when she met her soulmate Dorothy. There were even Mulan, Aurora, and Phillip, who’d made the news more than once as one of the few examples of polyamorous soulmates willing to go public.

And there was Emma herself.

As a kid, she’d been fascinated by her soulmark, especially since not everyone had one. But she quickly learned to stop telling people about it, since the most common reaction was for them to remind her that she wasn’t special. She was just another foster kid, another number in the system, another inconvenience, another fucked-up adult waiting to happen; pointing out her soulmark was just attention-seeking behavior, and attention-seeking behavior got punished.

And so her first lesson about soulmates was that she should hide that she had one. And since her soulmark wasn’t in her file, the Blanchards didn’t know about it when they adopted her. The location of the mark made it easy for her to hide it, too; as long as she didn’t wear a string bikini, she could even go to the beach or the pool without anyone spotting the small mark on her hip.

The first time anyone saw her soulmark after foster care was her first time with Neal. She’d braced herself for awkwardness, but Neal didn’t seem to take much notice. She tried not to be too obvious about searching his skin for the matching mark; she didn’t want him to think she was clingy or overly in love if she was obsessing over whether or not they were soulmates.

She checked every time they had sex, until the day that he ran off forever, leaving her behind to take the fall for the drug dealing operation she didn’t know he was running.

Senior year of high school had been rough. After all, of _course_ the former foster kid would get involved with a drug dealer. Of _course_ she’d get arrested. And of _course_ she’d get pregnant. Even after her parents’ attorney friend got the bogus charges dropped, her reputation had already been ruined.

Her parents and sister reassured her that people were full of shit and didn’t know what they were talking about. And she still managed to get into a good college, she still managed to make a lot of great friends, and she still managed to find a job that she liked and excelled at after she graduated.

But Neal had taught her her second lesson about soulmates, which was that she didn’t really _want_ one.

She wanted to be _loved_ , but the idea of someone being with her because they had some stupid mark on them, something that neither of them had asked for, made her feel sick. And even worse, _no one_ was going to love a broken orphan with more baggage than an airport. If she met her soulmate, and they knew she was their soulmate, she would always be stuck wondering if they really wanted to be with her or not.

So as soon as she could, after she’d put her baby up for adoption, she tattooed over the mark. It wasn’t a foolproof plan, since soulmarks were kind of weird. Anyone paying close attention would be able to tell that the stylized swan was only mostly tattoo ink, and that a small part of it was slightly iridescent.

To throw people off even more, in case they found it suspicious that she just _happened_ to have a tattoo on a spot that was usually only visible when she was naked, she didn’t stop with just the one tattoo. It helped that getting tattoos was slightly addicting, and that she really did _want_ the tattoos she got. And seeing so many other designs all over her body made it easier for her to forget that one of those marks wasn’t entirely there by choice.

But she couldn’t escape soulmates. Not when she was a bridesmaid in the wedding of two of them. Not when she was sitting on a hotel room bed, watching TV with her best friend, the first person she’d ever met who made her wish that she wasn’t too broken to be loved.

“What are you thinking about, Swan?”

“Huh?”

Killian rolled his eyes, but she could tell that his irritation with her was pretty mild. “I asked what you were thinking about.”

She was thinking about how great he smelled. “Oh. Nothing.”

“Of course.” He never believed her when she lied, but at least he knew better than to ask. “Shall we call it a night, then? It’s late. And besides, it’s more enjoyable to carry on a conversation with you when you actually speak.”

“You’re hilarious. And—wait, it’s _not_ late. It’s barely nine!”

“Aye, except that we were both up quite early, and there’s always the _delightful_ time change.”

That was true. Their flight out of Boston had left at seven in the morning, and although it was nine at night in California, it felt like midnight. Not to mention the fact that their hotel couldn’t give them early check-in, so Emma hadn’t had a chance to nap before she’d had to head down to the hotel’s salon for the pampering session Ruby had scheduled for herself and the bridal party. Killian had said something about it being bad form for him to rest if she couldn’t, but when she’d come back to the room to get dressed for the rehearsal dinner, she’d had to shake him awake.

“Besides,” he continued, as he shut off the television, “David mentioned that you lot have to be at the salon for hair and makeup at five o’clock. I don’t want to assume I heard him wrong, though that sounds _quite_ excessive, given that the wedding ceremony isn’t until half past three.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you have two brides, with five bridesmaids each,” she said grumpily. “It takes fucking forever to get hair and makeup done for twelve women.”

“Aye, love. I suppose I should know, given how long it takes _you_ to get ready sometimes.”

“Oh yeah?” she asked, grinning. “And just _how_ long did _you_ take in the bathroom, working on your hair and eyeliner, before the rehearsal dinner?”

“The lighting in there is awful, Swan. You know it doesn’t usually take that long.”

“Mmhmm. Still, pot calling the kettle black, Killian.” She pushed herself off the bed and started rummaging through her suitcase. “You want the bathroom first?”

“If that’s all right.”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were both under the covers. It was a little weird, sharing a bed, but it was just _Killian._ The number of times they’d fallen asleep on the couch together and woken up in slightly intimate positions was well into the double digits at this point. So when the hotel had apologized to them and explained that they only had a room with a single king-sized bed, they’d just shrugged, said it was fine, and headed upstairs.

Killian had seemed a little irritated with the situation, Emma remembered as she tried to get comfortable. He’d complained about how ridiculous it was, since the reason they’d been denied early check in was that the type of room they’d booked wasn’t available. She had to admit that he was right, but it still stung a bit to know how upset he was that they’d have to share a bed.

Not that anything was going to ever happen between them. Killian was the only person she’d ever met who was as relationship-averse as she was. She reminded herself how good that was, that nothing would happen: she would always have his friendship, and he would always have hers.

It was really the only silver lining for her, since the whole soulmates bullshit was never going to work out. No one was ever going to love her like _that_ , but she’d do anything to hold onto _this._

* * *

 

If Emma had wanted to forget all about soulmates, this wasn’t the wedding for it. Granted, it wasn’t _as_ excruciatingly soulmate-y as Mary Margaret and David’s wedding had been. But she was a little surprised at how _into_ it Ruby and Dorothy were, given that Dorothy was one of the least outwardly sentimental people Emma had ever met (including herself and Killian), and that Ruby’s soulmark hadn’t stopped her from fucking everyone who crossed her path (also including herself and Killian) before she’d met Dorothy.

But Ruby was one of her best friends, and if that meant standing in stilettos for twenty minutes while listening to the officiant talk about soulmates, so be it. If that meant an hour of photos, listening to virtually the _entire_ bridal party talk about their soulmates between shots, so be it. If that meant being surrounded by decor that was covered in the official wedding logo (Ruby and Dorothy’s soulmark), so be it.

She tried not to think about how much less resentful she usually was to stick through things for friends. Like when Killian needed a ride even when she was busy and he was an hour away during rush hour traffic. Or like when Killian had the flu and she took time off to take care of him. Or like when Killian’s friend Will married his soulmate, and she went with him to the wedding so he’d have a date.

That was why he was here, after all: repaying the favor. Because he was a good friend, too. And, well, he was _also_ friends with the bride and half the bridal party, but she did appreciate that he was a really attentive date. He smiled at her constantly, told her she looked beautiful, got her drinks from the bar without her even needing to ask, and danced with her until her feet hurt too much. He even opted to leave with her when she was too tired to go to the afterparty.

That was a little odd. “You weren’t up at four-thirty,” she reminded him. “Go, have fun!”

“I don’t want to wake you when I get back,” he said.

“Well, that’s a bullshit excuse,” she pointed out. “You know how hard I am to wake up.”

“Aye, fair point,” he admitted. “It’s fine, though—really. I’m quite exhausted from the flight and the time change, and would prefer some peace and quiet. We still have brunch tomorrow morning to continue celebrating with the newlyweds, after all. Besides,” he said, as she opened her mouth to argue more, “the majority of the bridal party is _also_ opting to skip the afterparty, so who would I drink with? Ruby’s grandmother?”

“Hey, I hear that woman can drink people under the table. But you make a good point.”

Back in their hotel room, he seemed surprised when she emerged from the bathroom, ready for bed. “Swan, how intoxicated are you?”

She snorted. “I’m pretty sober. You started bringing me ginger ale a couple hours ago instead of wine. Remember?” She frowned. “Why? Are _you_ drunk?”

“Hardly. It’s just that you seem to have forgotten to finish getting ready.”

“Oh, you mean my hair?”

“Yes, that _is_ what I’m referring to.”

She shrugged. “It’ll take a long time to take it down. And if I sleep on my face, it’ll actually hold, so I can just wear it to brunch tomorrow.”

“You’re going to sleep on your face?” he asked skeptically.

“Uh, yeah.”

He laughed as he grabbed his pajamas and strode into the now vacated bathroom. “Now that will be _very_ amusing.”

She rolled her eyes as she climbed into bed. While she’d been getting ready, which had taken a while thanks to all the makeup caked onto her face, he’d been watching TV. She couldn’t find the remote, so she got herself settled in (careful not to smush her hair into the headboard behind her) and continued watching the cheesy eighties movie he’d found.

He emerged a few minutes later and, after shutting off the lights, he climbed in as well. “Well, that was quite a nice wedding,” he said. He fumbled around for the remote. “You’re not watching, are you?”

She shook her head. “Nah. Although you can keep it on if you want. I’ll fall asleep whenever anyway.”

He chuckled. “Yes, you certainly will.”

“Be nice.”

“Sorry, love.”

She was half asleep when he next spoke. “How long have we been friends?”

“Huh?”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep already.”

“I wasn’t. Well, not _totally_ asleep. What did you ask?”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, come on, what did you say?”

“I asked how long we’d been friends.”

“Oh. Hmm.”

“Right?”

“Yeah, I mean, how long we’ve known each other is an easier question.”

“Twelve years,” he said immediately.

“Right, twelve years.”

Twelve years ago, he’d tried to trick her into doing all the work for their Intro to Sociology project, resulting in her calling him out on it and demanding that she get assigned a new partner. After that, he’d become _persona non grata_ amongst her entire group of friends, and the animosity had grown and grown to the point where David had punched him just for trying to show up at one of their house parties senior year.

None of them had even kept in touch with him after college, or at least they hadn’t planned to, until he ran into Emma one night, entirely randomly. She’d sprained her ankle so badly while chasing a skip that she couldn’t even drag herself to a payphone to get help; he just happened to recognize her as he walked by the stoop where she was sitting to get out of the rain.

He’d left her at the hospital with his phone number, which she never planned on using until she heard that he and his girlfriend had been in a car accident. She hadn’t expected to find him so receptive to her sympathies, which had been a little weird, but not in a terrible way. And when he couldn’t attend his girlfriend’s funeral, since her husband and son would be there, she spent the whole day and night with him in his hospital room, distracting him. The rest of her friends were a little judgmental (“Emma, his girlfriend was _married!_ And she had a kid!”), but they weren’t around to see just how devastated Killian was, and how much he’d truly loved his girlfriend. Emma didn’t have it in her to hold the affair against him; he felt punished enough as it was.

They’d talked every so often after that, with her asking about his new prosthetic, or him calling at a predetermined hour to make sure her latest job hadn’t landed her in trouble. And when Ruby moved in with Dorothy, and Killian’s lease ended, it just made sense for him to move into Ruby’s old room. And because he was her roommate, he began spending time with her friends as well, becoming another member of their now-sizable group. And now he was such an integral part of her life that she often looked back on their initial meeting and laughed, knowing how different everything was now.

But at what point did they _become_ friends?

“It just kind of happened,” she admitted. “Why? What’s on your mind?”

He sighed. “It’s this wedding, I suppose. All this talk of soulmates.”

“Don’t believe in them?” she asked, a little confused and apprehensive about the change of subject. They’d only ever talked about soulmates in passing, never as the main topic of conversation, which had been fine by her.

“I suppose it’s a little pointless to say whether I believe in them or not, since we know they exist. But it just seems … almost unfair.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s silly, Swan, never mind.”

“Hey, come on.” She sat up a bit more. “It’s me, remember?”

“Aye, it’s you,” he said. “I just think it’s unfair that something so important is supposedly predetermined. I mean, Ruby was perfectly happy before she met Dorothy, but as soon as she saw Dorothy’s soulmark, that was it. They’d been on a _single_ date, Swan, and suddenly Ruby was monogamous.”

“Yeah, but you’ve _seen_ them together,” Emma pointed out. “They’re perfect for each other. They’re ridiculously in love.”

“Yes, Swan, yes,” he said, clearly frustrated. “But they weren’t in love on their first date, were they?”

“No, I guess not.”

“It just seems so bizarre to me. I don’t _want_ to be _told_ who I should love.”

“You want to be able to fall in love for real, and have that person love you for who you are,” she finished for him. “I get that.”

“You do?”

“Well, yeah.” She shrugged. She didn’t want him to know _why_ she got that so well. “What’s brought all this on?”

He was quiet for so long that if she hadn’t known any better, she would have assumed he’d fallen asleep. “I have a soulmark, Emma.”

Her exhaustion didn’t exactly disappear, but she was suddenly more alert than she’d been all weekend. She’d been living with him for three years now, and had seen him nearly naked on a regular basis. Wouldn’t she have _seen_ that? To be fair, she’d known Milah hadn’t had a soulmark, so she’d just assumed he didn’t either and never really _looked_ to see if he had one. But he was handsome as hell and in great shape; she’d ogled him enough times that she couldn’t believe she’d missed it.

“Do you …”

“No, I don’t know them,” he finished for her. “And I don’t plan to look for them.”

“Because you don’t want to be told to love someone,” she said.

“Because I’m already _in_ love with someone.”

“Oh.” She felt sick. She _hated_ that she felt sick. She’d _known_ that she wasn’t lovable, and she’d always _known_ that she and Killian would always _only_ be friends. And it wasn’t like she and Killian had some sort of pact to not be in relationships; it had just been nice and convenient that her best friend who she was also maybe in love with refused to go on second dates and only ever had one night stands without any potential for more.

He hadn’t fallen in love _at_ her. It wasn’t his fault.

“So I guess that’s why you were really irritated about the whole ‘only one bed’ thing,” she said, trying not to sound like she was crushed. She _couldn’t_ be crushed because then she’d act _weird_ around him, and then he’d _know_ , and then she’d lose him.

“What?”

“Oh, come on,” she said, trying not to let on how upset she was. “You were really obviously not okay with the hotel’s mistake. I just didn’t realize why.”

“Why do you think I’m not okay with this?” he asked. Why did he sound confused?

“Because whoever you’re in love with might find out?” she asked. “I don’t know. I’d be pissed if someone said they loved me, and then they spent the weekend in bed with someone else.”

“Don’t you know, Emma?” In the dim light from the TV, he looked shocked and sad.

“Know _what?”_

“It’s _you.”_

She opened her mouth to reply before she realized she had zero words. It was like her entire vocabulary had vanished. Killian Jones, her best friend, was in love with her.

He loved her because he _loved her_ , and not because he thought he _had to._ And it just so happened that she was in love with him, too.

“Emma?” He sighed. “I’m sorry. Look, I can see if they have any other rooms available. I don’t want to make you uncomf—”

She interrupted him by grabbing at his T-shirt and kissing him. He _loved_ her. Holy _shit_ , he _loved_ her.

Kissing him was even better than she’d expected it would be. He held nothing back, practically sweeping his tongue into her mouth and sliding his hand and wrist underneath the back of her camisole. Together, they rolled so that she was on top of him, straddling him, and he groaned. Oh _god,_ his groan sounded so good. It _felt_ so good.

They broke apart. “Oh, _Emma.”_

“I love you, too,” she said, knowing she had to say it before she chickened out and overthought everything. “Fuck soulmates. I don’t care—I’ve never cared.”

“That is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” He thrust his hips up against her, and she moaned. “No, that’s wrong,” he said. _“That_ is the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Do it again, then.”

“As you wish.”

He did it again, and it felt _just_ as good. And again. And _again._ He was practically fucking her, and they were still dressed. How could dry humping feel this good?

“Wait, wait.” He stopped moving. “Please tell me you brought condoms.”

There was a beat before he answered. “You won’t be angry at me for being presumptuous?”

“Oh _god_ no. I’ll be angry if you don’t fuck me, though.”

He dashed out of the bed so quickly that she half-expected to see a cartoon-smoke outline of him. “For the love of everything good in this world, please turn off the television,” he said as he frantically rummaged through his suitcase. She fumbled around, finally finding the remote hidden under one of the pillows and shutting off the TV.

Once her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could just make out Killian standing next to the bed, undressing. Oh _god,_ this was really happening. She was going to have sex with her _best friend._ This was a mistake, right?

Except she was in love with him, and he was in love with _her_ . Not a mistake. Probably the best thing that could happen, which is why he was getting naked. She should _probably_ get naked, too. She reached under the covers and quickly pushed off her sleep shorts and panties before pulling them out and tossing them somewhere. Who cared where they landed? She’d find them in the morning.

Killian had gotten back in bed by the time she’d removed her camisole. “Do you need help with that?” she asked about the condom.

“In a moment, yes,” he replied. “But first, I’ve wanted to do this for _so_ long.”

Before she could ask _what_ , he was pressing the condom into her hand, and then he had his mouth and his hand each on one of her breasts. _Oh. That._

She’d thought that grinding on him felt good, but so did _this._ _Everything_ felt good. The way he was sucking on her nipple felt _really_ good, and his thumb on her other nipple _also_ felt incredible, and the _noises_ he was making were just obscene and _also_ really good. Oh god, she needed to fuck him.

She should probably tell him that. “Oh god, I need to fuck you.”

“I know the feeling,” he said roughly, pulling away. “A little assistance?”

“Yeah.” She tore open the foil as he stood up. She could barely see anything in the dark, but she could just make out the shape of his cock. The absurdity of the situation hit her, and she giggled.

“Not exactly what a man likes to hear before intercourse,” he said, a little sternly.

“Sorry,” she said. “It’s just … you’re my best friend, but this isn’t weird.”

“I know what you mean.” His voice was gentle now. “I was afraid it would be. Otherwise, I might have said something sooner.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I was in denial for long enough that you were better off waiting.”

“I appreciate the reassurance that my fears were well-founded. Are you … apologies, but do you still want to do this?”

“Um, _yeah._ Why?”

“I can’t get the condom on by myself, love.”

“Oh, right.” No big deal, just going to touch her best friend’s cock for the first time, not a big deal at all.

But as soon as she touched it, and he let out a very pleased hum, it _wasn’t_ a big deal. On the condom went, with plenty of playful squeezes along the way.

And then he was sliding on top of her, and she didn’t want to be playful anymore. She just wanted _him_ . He clearly felt the same way, wasting no time in lining himself up and slowly thrusting until he was fully inside her. He felt _great._ He felt _perfect._ And he hadn’t even started moving yet. Dear lord, what would happen when he started moving?

She got her answer a split-second after that: the best sex of her life, no comparison. She even _came_ , just from him fucking her. No hands, no toys, no struggle to get into the perfect position, only to have it feel _really_ good but not quite good enough. Nope—it felt amazing, and then more amazing, and he was hitting just the right spot, and then she was coming, coming, coming, and so was he, and it was _perfect._

Maybe that whole _sex is great when you love the other person_ thing was true. Although it had never been _this_ great with Neal. Then again, Neal hadn’t loved _her._

Afterwards, she quickly used the bathroom while Killian got rid of the condom. Neither one said anything to the other as they wrapped their arms around each other and fell asleep.

* * *

 

Emma woke up to laughter.

It took her a few moments to remember why she was naked, and why she was in bed with Killian, her best friend, who was also naked. Right—they had to share a bed thanks to the dumbass hotel, but then they’d confessed their feelings for each other and had mind-blowing sex. So, naked.

But that didn’t explain why he was laughing at her. “What?” she asked. Her heart sank. “You weren’t joking last night to get into my pants were you?”

He immediately stopped laughing and looked horrified. “Swan, how could you believe that?”

“Then what’s so funny?”

His face went from serious to mirthful once again. “It’s … sorry, darling, it’s your hair.”

“My—oh, _shit.”_ Without thinking about the fact that Killian hadn’t really seen her naked yet, since it had been way too dark in the room last night, she jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom.

Her updo, which had remained reasonably well-coiffed throughout the reception, was an absolute _mess._ Some parts were flattened, while others were totally frizzy, there were definitely bobby pins sticking out, and the whole thing looked lopsided. Hopefully, she’d have time to pull out all the pins and shower before brunch. “What time is it?” she called out.

“Not quite six.”

“Seriously? It doesn’t _feel_ that early.”

“Still adjusting to the time change, darling.”

At least that meant she had plenty of time to fix her hair. She began the arduous process of removing pins as she walked out of the bathroom. Killian, still curled up in bed, eyed her with a grin. “Bloody hell, you are gorgeous.”

She knew she was blushing, but she continued to take out pins as she stared back at him. “Oh yeah?”

“Aye. Give us a turn, would you?” She chuckled and, hands still working at her hair, did a slow spin for him. “I never realized just how elaborate your back tattoo was.”

“Oh? Yeah, I guess you’re right.” The stars were only all visible at the same time when she was naked; even her most scandalous backless dress left a few of them hidden. She walked over to the desk and put down the pins she’d managed to extract before reaching back up for more. When she turned back to look at Killian, he had a sad smile on his face. “What is it?”

He looked like he was about to brush her off before remembering that they were _in love_ and this was _something_ , so he should probably be honest. “Over the past year or so, when I started to fall in love with you, whenever you were in any state of undress, or showing any skin whatsoever, I’d anxiously look for a soulmark. Now, I finally see you nude, and it’s only after I stopped caring.”

“Hm,” she said, not wanting to really reply. She knew how he’d felt, since she’d sort of done the same thing to him. But she also felt guilty; if he was staring at her naked, then he _was_ seeing her soulmark. He just didn’t know it. “I’ve gotta finish the rest in the bathroom,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

That wasn’t totally true, since she was mostly finding the pins by touch. But it was easier to see what she was doing by angling the makeup mirror towards the bathroom wall mirror. Hopefully she’d figure out her situation before she finished her hair.

She had what she’d always figured she _never_ would: someone who loved her for who she was, and not because they _had_ to. And what she felt for Killian made her feelings for Neal feel like _nothing._ It was kind of awesome, and most importantly, soulmarks were totally irrelevant. Killian had seen her soulmark and still had no idea she even had one. They could have a happy relationship together and he never needed to know he wasn’t the only one who had a soulmate somewhere out there.

But he’d told her. He hadn’t _had_ to. He could have just confessed his feelings for her and had that be it. Sure, she’d have seen his soulmark eventually, but he could have played it off as a tattoo, and she wouldn’t have pressed for more information. Instead, though, he’d been honest with her, so she would know: he was choosing her and telling fate to fuck off. He wanted her and not his soulmate. Didn’t he deserve to know that she’d made the same choice?

After getting what she thought was the last bobby pin, and then _finding_ the last bobby pin as she brushed out her hair, she emerged from the bathroom having made her decision. He was still in bed, although, true to form, he’d turned on the TV.

“Killian, I need to be honest with you.”

He froze, and she could see how scared he was. “What is it, Swan?”

“I have a soulmark, too.”

His brow furrowed. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious.”

“Why didn’t you say so last night?”

She sighed. “Honestly? I kind of forget sometimes. I always wanted to forget, for the same reasons we talked about. But you were honest with me, so I wanted to be honest with you.”

“Emma, you are completely naked. I don’t see a soulmark.”

She rolled her eyes. “Killian, I tattooed over it as soon as I could. I _told_ you, I wanted to forget I had one.”

“Then your tattoo artist is a genius because I can’t tell which one it is.”

“Here, I’ll show you.” She lay down on her side of the bed, turned on the bedside lamp for better light, and pointed to the swan tattoo on her hip. “Look closely at it. You’ll see what’s the soulmark and what’s just ink.”

He peered closely, which was a little awkward because of how close his face was to her crotch, and they hadn’t done _that_ particular thing yet. He then touched her skin gently, tracing along the soulmark. “Here?”

“Yeah. It’s … I mean, I just assumed it was a hook or something, but it’s not like they make guides to these things.” He leaned in and gently kissed her soulmark; to her surprise, a tear landed on her hip. “Killian? Killian, what’s wrong?”

“We’re idiots,” he said, looking up at her with a tearful grin before pushing down the blankets entirely.

There, on his hip, in the same place, was the same hook.

* * *

 

It was a little awkward, sitting at brunch together, and having all of their friends crowing and laughing and cracking obnoxious jokes at their expense, but Emma couldn’t stop smiling anyway.

“I’ve aged, like, ten years waiting for you guys to get your heads out of your asses,” said Mary Margaret.

“It’s been excruciating watching you dance around each other like you didn’t want to screw each other’s brains out,” said Regina.

“Yes, the eye-fucking has been really tiresome,” said Mulan. “Now you can do it in private.”

She was worried that Ruby might be miffed at having her thunder stolen, but the newlywed was pretty much the opposite. She practically squealed when she found out. “Do you _know_ how much money I won?”

“What?”

“Oh my _god,_ Emma, we’ve been betting on this!”

Killian was a little offended. “You _what?”_

“Don’t act so surprised, Jones.”

“Well, _I’m_ not,” Emma muttered.

“I _knew_ it would happen this weekend! Fucking _finally!_ Makes getting married worth it.”

“Well, that’s always nice to hear,” Dorothy said, stepping over and kissing her wife on the cheek.

“Babe, they finally hooked up.”

“Oh! How much money did you win?”

Apparently, Ruby was much more pleased with the _one thousand dollars_ that Emma and Killian had won for her than she was about the flatware they’d bought her (as a joint gift—how had Emma not seen their relationship coming?). Oh well.

Throughout brunch, Emma was anxious, waiting for a question she did not want to answer: were they soulmates? But the question never came. Whether it was because Emma’s tattoos had fooled everyone, because everyone was too polite to ask, or because everyone assumed that, if Emma and Killian _were_ soulmates, they would have said something, it wasn’t really clear. But no one asked.

After the meal, and after one more round in bed, as they finished packing, Emma broached the subject. “Should we tell them?”

Killian finished packing up his suit. “Do you have a preference?”

“I guess. Do you?”

“I do.” He grinned. “Who should go first?”

“Maybe we should each write it down so neither of us can wimp out.”

“Oi, I would _not_ wimp out, Swan.”

“Well, I will, so I guess I’ll go first,” she said, zipping her suitcase shut and turning to face him. “I don’t want to tell anyone.”

He set down his suit carrier and stepped over to her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her. Knowing that their physical compatibility _might_ be because they were soulmates didn’t really put any sort of damper on how amazing every single one of his kisses was. For a second, she forgot about what they were talking about; she could only think about his lips and _oh,_ he was doing that _thing_ with his tongue. Damn. When they parted, her eyes were out of focus.

“I don’t want to tell anyone either,” he said firmly, and she knew he was stating his actual opinion and not just agreeing with her to avoid hurting her feelings. “It’s no one’s business, and furthermore, it had absolutely nothing to do with why we’re together.”

“Fuck fate,” she said.

“Exactly.”

She leaned in to kiss him again, because she fucking _could_ , and once again forgot about what they’d been talking about.

“Come on, my love,” he said when they finally managed to stop kissing. “We’ll miss our flight. And I know I can’t _wait_ to get home and have you in my own bed.”

She laughed. “Not if I have you in _my_ own bed.”

“I suppose we’ll have to fight for it.”

“You’re on.”

And in the end, they never told anyone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you think!


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